


Paradox (2006)

by JennyB



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: Angst, Community: 30kisses, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-07
Updated: 2006-08-07
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennyB/pseuds/JennyB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd convinced himself he was doing the right thing. But in the end, was it duty or want that had brought him there? Muraki/Tsuzuki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradox (2006)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ group "30kisses". Prompt was 'jolt!'.

I had sworn I would never do this. Morally, it went against every fibre of my being. I despised the man, despised everything he stood for, and yet, here I was, willingly in his company. I didn’t want to be here, but really, it was the lesser of two evils – it was for the greater good. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. Delusional self-justification. I’m pathetic. I know damned well that I’m here because I want to be.

I try to show my displeasure as I glare across the table at him. He’s as immaculately dressed as ever, and he’s watching me, his silver eyes assessing. It’s funny – the arrogance suits him. To expect anything else from him would almost seem artificial; besides, he has earned the right to be. As always, he’s found my Achilles’ heel, catered to my one weakness. There are several delectable looking dishes on the table – some are chocolate, some are caramel, and of course, there is my favourite. Right in the centre, there is a large piece of freshly baked apple pie. With ice-cream. Despite myself, I let my guard down just a little and gaze longingly at it. It’s only for a fraction of a second, but it’s still too long. He sees my wistful expression and he chuckles softly, pushing the dessert closer to me with one long, elegant finger. Damn him. Actually, damn me. Before I know what I’m doing, I pick up the plate and set it in front of me, but I manage to resist the urge to pick up my fork and tear into it. The aroma is intoxicating, and once again, I glance down at it. I shouldn’t. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I appreciate the gesture. My hand twitches slightly on the table edge, as if my body is plotting to mutiny against me.

“You really should try it. It’s exquisite,” he says to me, that imperious, smug smirk settling on his lips.

“I’d rather not,” I reply, my lips turning down into a small scowl. Extortion. That’s all this is. An afternoon with me in exchange for those three school girls. And I had to come willingly, and without protest. I didn’t trust him then. I still don’t trust him. So, why did I agree? 

I look across the table at him and note the way the waning sunlight glints off his hair giving it a bronzed look, and I find myself captivated by the alabaster hue of his skin. Despite the ugliness in his soul, he is a very attractive man. And that’s the irony of it all. As much as I don’t want to be near him, I find myself longing for his company. And in some strange, twisted way, I long for his touch, too. Ever since we shared that handshake in Nagasaki. Sighing in resignation, I pick up my fork and take a bite of the pie. Somehow, I knew I’d cede. Again, I’m pathetic…

“So, was I right?” he asks me, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. 

I feel my heart rate quicken at the intimately casual posture and my mouth goes dry. I curse the heat I can feel in my cheeks, and I drop my gaze to the plate, trailing my finger through the drop of filling I had missed. Swallowing harshly, I hastily wipe my hands on my napkin and then rest them on the table top, forming them into loose fists. “Yes,” I reply coolly, deliberately not looking at him. “It’s very good.” I finish the slice, and then push the empty dish away from me. “I’ve done what you’ve asked of me. Now take me to them.”

He reaches out and lightly strokes his fingers across the back of my hand. I manage to hold back the shiver I feel at the touch, but I don’t pull away. His flesh feels cool against mine – it always does – but it’s hardly what I would call ‘unpleasant’. I let my hand linger, delighting in the small, tingling jolts of electricity I feel along my skin. I’ve never had anyone bring about such sensations in me before him. It both repulses and delights me.

“I shall. Tell me; do you trust me to not have harmed them?”

“Not for a second,” I murmur. “In fact, I’d bet that they’re already dead. Aren’t they?”

“You know me so well,” he purrs sensually, a seductive smile on his lips as his touch becomes more intimate, almost erotic. “I only said I’d return them to you. I never claimed they’d be in the same condition.” He twines our fingers together on the tabletop, his thumb continuing to caress my palm and the back of my hand. He stares at me through half-lidded eyes, and chuckles mockingly when I growl irritably at him, yet make no move to pull my hand away. “So tell me then, why did you agree to come this afternoon if you already knew what the outcome would be?”

I gaze for several long moments into the arrogant face, and I contemplate the question. “Maybe I just wanted to,” I finally say, dropping my gaze to the table top. “Maybe I wanted to see what would happen.” I know I’m poking the proverbial sleeping dog. Sometimes, I don’t exercise the best judgment…

“I see,” he says, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. His smirk widens, and I’m torn between kissing him and killing him. “Well then, I won’t keep you any longer. You kept your part of the bargain, and I’ll tell you that they’re in the basement of the old convent on Sakura Street.” Slowly, he slides his hand from mine and fluidly gets to his feet. 

Once again, I’m entranced by the eerily unnatural way he seems to move, and before I have time to think, I react. “Wait,” I call, grasping his arm and stopping him. “What if I don’t want you to leave just yet?” I can’t help the small laugh at the surprised expression on his face. 

He arches an elegant eyebrow as he drops back into his chair to give me an assessing look. “You want me to stay with you? Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Damn it all! He knows damned well that it is. I think he’s always known, really. A small blush colours my cheeks as I nod slowly, almost miserably. “Yes.” So much for personal morality…

He smiles in smug triumph and asks the waitress to refresh his tea.

I look into those intense, silver eyes, watch the way his lips move when he speaks, and listen to the subtle inflections in his voice. Perhaps I don’t hate him as much as I’d thought. I guess there’s a first time for everything.


End file.
